


when i get home

by blessings



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, brief seijou gen, humor!! angst!! fluff!!! happy birthday oikawa, my favorite haikyuu character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15372090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessings/pseuds/blessings
Summary: “Iwa-chan! Help, I’m indanger!” Oikawa wails into the phone.Hajime turns another page in his math textbook.“Hmm,” he says.“Iwa-chan!” He can almost feel the ground shake from Oikawa stomping his foot next door. “There’s aspider!”Hajime considers getting up, he really does.Iwaizumi and Oikawa have always been each other’s first and most important phone call.





	when i get home

**Author's Note:**

> idk math so these dates don't add up probably YEET

_Hi, you’ve reached the Oikawa residence. Please leave a message after the beep, thanks!_

**5/4/2000, 8:00 PM**  
“Hey, Oikawa, I have your jacket. You left it at school, dummy. Pick it up tomorrow, I’m not carrying it for you.”  


**5/4/2000, 8:03 PM**  
“My mom says that I will carry your jacket to school tomorrow, and also that I should say goodbye when I hang up on you. So. Goodbye. Dummy.”  


\---

A delicate snort is the only answer to Hajime’s “Hello?” when he picks up the phone.

Hajime sighs. “Is this Oikawa?” 

“Nope! Just a concerned neighbor with a question.”

Hajime refuses to say anything else. He's been friends with Oikawa Tooru long enough to know that grumpy silence is his most effective tactic against Oikawa’s...Oikawa-ness. 

He clears his throat and Hajime’s eyes cross at how he makes it sound dainty, even through the phone wires. “Is-- is your refrigerator running?”

“No,” Hajime says, and tries to hang up.

“Wait, wait Iwa-chan!” Oikawa is yelling loud enough that Hajime can hear it, even holding the phone away from his ear.

“I told you not to call me Iwa-chan, dummy,” Hajime grumbles. “Why are you calling me?”

They had already seen each other at school just a few hours ago, and walked home together, and hung out in the street for a little bit to practice volleyball, and now they’re talking on the phone. Hajime frowns at his fingers while he waits, using them to count out how much time he spends with Oikawa. The hours add up to almost all of his day, and the days add up to weeks, and at that point Hajime loses count of exactly how much of his life he's dedicated to being Oikawa’s best friend. It’s a lot of time, he knows that for sure.

“Hmm,” Oikawa answers, and falls silent.

Hajime sighs again. “Oikawa, my mom’s almost done making dinner.”

“Oookay,” he says, drawn out. 

Hajime still doesn’t hang up. He’s just waiting for Oikawa to do it, is what he tells himself.

He tugs on the phone cord, watching it sway, hearing nothing but soft static on the other end. He thinks of hours spent with Oikawa at school and in the woods and in between their driveways, enough to add up to a whole year, probably. He thinks of every version of Oikawa he knows -- he’s seen him covered in dust and leaves and even glue, that one time, and excited and tired and babbling on about his latest obsession. He thinks of the long weekend ahead. 

“Didja...didja want to come over? For the whole night?” Hajime asks. His mom pokes her head out of the kitchen, one eyebrow raised. Hajime looks right at her and says, “My mom says it’s okay.”

Her face twists in an expression of pride and disappointment, but she ducks her head back in without denying it.

“Oh!” Oikawa squeaks. “Really? I-- yeah, okay! Lemme ask my mom.”

“Okay,” Hajime agrees, shuffling in his socks. He eyes the living room -- they can set up some pillows and blankets there, and make popcorn, and he can show Oikawa his favorite Godzilla movies, in order of his best monster design ranking, or maybe his most satisfying ending ranking. “Just...walk over whenever you’re ready.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cheers. “I’ll see you in a little bit!”

“See ya,” Hajime says, and he stands on his toes to place the receiver gently on its stand. He runs upstairs to grab his games before his mom can call him for dinner. Maybe she’ll let them eat ice cream and watch movies past eight. If they can stay up the whole night without sleeping, he thinks those hours will add up to almost his entire lifetime spent with Oikawa.

\---

“Just toss it!” Oikawa yells from his bedroom window. “Puny Iwa-chan, can’t even throw a can across my yard--”

“Sh-shut up!” Hajime snaps, and hurls the metal can, string attached to the base, at Oikawa’s open window. There’s a startled yelp as it smacks Oikawa in the forehead. Hajime looks at his hands with awe.

He picks up his end, grinning. Giving an experimental tug on the string and raising the can to his mouth, he asks, “Can you hear me now?”

Silence, and then-- “ _Iwa-chaaaan, my beautiful faaaace!_ ”

\---

“Iwa-chan! It happened, get in the car _right now_.” Oikawa’s panicked voice nearly takes his eardrums out as Hajime balances his mom’s cell phone on his shoulder while throwing toys and water bottles into his backpack.

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way. MOM!” He doesn’t bother moving his mouth from the receiver to yell down the hallway.

His mom stumbles out of the coat closet with a pair of mismatched heels and her pajama bottoms and, for some reason, a parka. It’s spring, but she has a wild, anxious look in her eyes that Hajime’s only seen when she’s watching his volleyball games, so he doesn’t say anything. “I’m here, let’s go!” 

“She’s here, we’re going,” Hajime recites into the phone.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and something in his voice has him pausing halfway to the door. “His name is Takeru.”

Hajime grins and hopes Oikawa will be able to hear it, stomach twisting in nerves and excitement. “That’s a good name.”

“He’s so small,” Oikawa whispers. “Like...a little loaf of milkbread.”

“Oh my god,” he says, as much disgust in his tone as he could muster. “Don't _eat_ him, dummy, I haven't even met him yet.”

“His nose is tiny.”

“He’s a baby,” Hajime points out. 

“Hurry, okay?” Oikawa asks, and because it’s a question, Hajime knows he must be terrified.

“I’ll be there,” Hajime promises. “Quicker than you can blink.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then-- “I’m blinking, Iwa-chan. Can you hear me blinking?”

“And I’m almost there!” Hajime says. “I’m right outside your door. Go check.” He keeps talking even as he’s hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder and sprinting to meet his mom in their idling car. He’s stuffed it full of everything he would want a baby brother to have, and some games for him and Oikawa to play when the baby -- _Takeru_ , Hajime thinks with a grin -- is sleeping. 

“Iwa-chan’s a liar,” Oikawa sniffs, but he sounds more haughty than panicked now, so Hajime must’ve done something right.

It's good that Takeru is going to have Oikawa and Hajime together as family, he realizes as he pretends to argue with Oikawa over the phone while his mom tears around street corners on their way to the hospital, Hajime sliding across the backseat. Either of them alone is just _too much_ without the other to balance him out.

\---

“Did you get it?” is the first thing Oikawa asks Hajime when he answers the phone.

“I have it,” Hajime breathes out, looking at the envelopes in his hands, to be left unopened until Oikawa arrives. 

“I’m on my way,” Oikawa promises. Hajime can hear him shuffling around in his room, probably tripping over the pile of clothes he always leaves by his door, and his heart rate escalates. Oikawa already has offers from Shiratorizawa and Seijou. Hajime is holding their responses in his hand, and it doesn’t feel like a yes.

The letters crinkle in Hajime’s fist. “Oikawa, I don’t think--”

“No,” Oikawa says, almost snarling. “It doesn’t matter where we go.” And it’s been like this for months, Oikawa never speaking of where he’s going to school, only where _they’re_ going. As if their partnership was nonnegotiable. Order one Oikawa Tooru, receive a free Iwaizumi Hajime. “Screw Shiratorizawa. I set for you, you’re _my_ ace. I can’t play at my best without you.”

Hajime could point out that Shiratorizawa has the better ace and the attention from scouts and the fancy gym, and Oikawa will _learn_ to be the best if he’s there. But Hajime gave up on overcoming his own selfishness a long time ago, and he’s supposed to be the stubborn one but he knows that fighting Oikawa on anything is fighting a losing battle. 

“Wherever we’re going,” he says finally. “We’ll take them to Nationals.”

Oikawa’s laugh is confident enough to be a promise.

“They are so lucky to have us,” he says.

\---

“Iwa-chan! Help, I’m in _danger_!” Oikawa wails into the phone.

Hajime turns another page in his math textbook.

“Hmm,” he says.

“Iwa- _chan_!” He can almost feel the ground shake from Oikawa stomping his foot next door. “There’s a _spider_!”

Hajime considers getting up, he really does. “Hnn.” 

“Terrible, just awful, you are the worst best friend, I’m going to be bitten and turn into a superhero and I will _never_ rescue you, you-- you-- _blockhead!_ ”

Hajime laughs as loud as he can into the speaker before hanging up.

\---

It’s the _time_ that Hajime gets the call that lets him know something’s off. 6:17 PM. After practice, even the extra practice the second-years had put in, and before dinner. This is the only spare time Oikawa has to do his homework, which means radio silence until 9 when he starts throwing rocks at Hajime’s window like a _child_. He casts a worried glance at Oikawa’s bedroom window and feels his gut clench when he can’t see any light behind his stupid alien-patterned curtains.

“Oikawa?” Hajime asks immediately, voice wobbly.

For a moment, there’s only labored breathing on the other line, and then-- “Can you come to school?”

“What happened?” he asks, panic rising in his chest even as he leaps out of his seat. 

Oikawa’s sentences take forever to start, as if they’re traveling over the distance between them. Hajime is frantically calculating the fastest route to school. “I landed wrong on my knee. I can’t-- I can’t walk.”

“Shit, shit, okay,” Hajime says, trying to tie his shoes and hop over his volleyball gear at the same time. “I’m on my way, my mom or your mom can take me--”

“No! Don’t tell my parents,” Oikawa interrupts, pleading.

Hajime’s jaw clenches and he stuffs his sweater hard enough into his bag that the seams stretch. “ _No_.”

“Iwa--”

“No, Oikawa! You can’t keep doing this! If you need help, I’m going to get it from wherever I can, including your family. We-- they love you.” Hajime is shouting into his phone, loud enough that his mom is going to ask if everything’s alright and it’s _not,_ because he feels like his hands are never going to be steady again and he can’t _see_ Oikawa, can’t tell how bad his knee is. 

Oikawa says nothing, but Hajime can hear the change in his breathing, the little hitch that has his throat closing up. 

“Stay on the line with me,” Hajime orders, _begs,_ tearing down the stairs. His mom meets him at the bottom, the startled look on her face changing to concern as he wipes furiously at his eyes. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Hajime,” Oikawa says, and he sounds exhausted. 

\---

This is a form of torture, Hajime decides, all of two seconds into waiting for Oikawa to pick up his phone. It’s only three rings before he does, but it feels like forever with the weight of the envelope in his hands.

“Oikawa,” he says breathlessly. “I have it.”

The silence on the other line goes on for a moment too long. “Well? First impressions?”

“I think...” Hajime bites his lip, weighing the thick envelope in his hands. If it's a rejection, they’ve printed a list of all of his flaws and mailed it to him. “I think it’s a yes.”

“I knew all along that Iwa-chan with his gorilla brain could do it,” Oikawa says airily. “I’ll have to take you shopping for some new clothes, can’t have you going off to Osaka looking like you usually do--”

“Shittykawa, I swear--”

“--jeans and a t-shirt are fine, Iwa-chan, but not for 365 days a year--”

“Oikawa!”

“--and we’ll get you some furniture for your dorm, too. Can’t survive on just one pillowcase and a sheet--”

Hajime closes his eyes against the rush of laughter and exasperation and melancholy that has colored his interactions with Oikawa ever since he got scouted by a school in Tokyo (just like Hajime knew he would). “Tooru.”

There’s the sound of Oikawa’s phone clattering to the ground and some muffled swearing.

“Yes?” Oikawa says after a moment, as casual as if nothing happened. Hajime rolls his eyes.

“Thanks,” Hajime says simply.

“F-for what? Stinky Iwa-chan,” Oikawa splutters into the phone.

“For helping me get to this point,” Hajime says. “I’m going to miss you too, by the way. Dumbass.”

Oikawa releases a slow breath into his phone. When he speaks, his voice is small, robbed of its flighty tone. “Osaka is so far.”

“Miyagi is still home for both of us. Seijou is always going to be our home team. I’ll see you for all the important stuff,” Hajime argues, confident only because he’s had this debate with himself every night for the past month. “Hell, I’ll come home for the dumb stuff, too.”

“Promise?” Oikawa asks, but Hajime knows an order when he hears it.

“Absolutely,” he answers. “And, I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but we have these things called _phones_ now, and they let you call people who are far away--”

“Dumb Iwa-chan! Who would want him as a doctor, he’s too grumpy, he’ll scare all the patients away,” Oikawa shouts over Hajime’s choked up laughter. God, he really is going to miss this.

His dream is to be a doctor, and school in Osaka is the next step on the path to doing something that will let him really help people. But at some point between meeting the new kid that moved in next door and getting ready to graduate with him, Oikawa became a part of that dream. Or maybe he was always there -- Hajime can’t tell which parts of himself are separate from Oikawa anymore. Either way, he's never been the type to give up on his dreams. 

So he’s going to hang on to what he has with Oikawa while he studies his ass off for his damn degree, and then he’s gonna come back to Miyagi and have both of them. He’s kinda selfish like that.

“Hey, Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, too.”

\---

Hajime’s ringtone for Oikawa goes off before his alarm can, which means he’ll have to hop on a train to Tokyo to commit his first, and most long-awaited, murder. He groans and waves his arm in the general direction of his phone before he picks it up, drops it on his face, groans again, and answers it.

“It is 6 in the morning,” he hisses into the speaker.

“I’m the first one to call you, right?” Oikawa asks.

Hajime pauses, waits for Oikawa’s brain to start functioning properly for the 20th year in a row. “It’s _6 in the morning_.”

“Great!” Oikawa chirps, and how the _hell_ is he awake right now, is he a fucking bird? “That means I’m the first to say happy birthday! You’re another year closer to looking even more like a wrinkly rock.”

Hajime pictures a volleyball smacking Oikawa perfectly in the back of the head and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, dumbass.”

Oikawa giggles -- his voice is still scratchy, he must’ve skipped the tea he usually drinks in the morning, or maybe he’s still in bed -- and Hajime feels a little more awake. “So, how’s studying been going?”

“It turns out, hating biology is a prerequisite to becoming a doctor,” Hajime deadpans.

Oikawa’s laugh is clear, even over the miles that separate them. It trails off into a silence that Hajime can feel in the back of his throat.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “ _Iwaaaa_ -chan.”

“What?” Hajime says, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

“Nothing, your voice just sounds nice,” Oikawa replies softly. With the curtains drawn, sunlight barely filtering in, and Oikawa’s voice right in his ear, Hajime can almost convince himself that he’s here, with him, leaning over his shoulder to press words against his neck.

Hajime swallows roughly.

“Oh,” he says.

Oikawa snorts. “ _Oh_ ,” he parrots. “You’re lucky. My voice is a blessing to your ears on most days, Iwa-chan, but I need tea before I speak to anyone in the morning.”

“Your voice always sounds nice,” Hajime responds automatically, and his grip tightens around the phone.

“Oh,” Oikawa breathes. Hajime wants to ask if he’s gotten out of bed yet. He wants to know what his hair looks like right now.

He closes his eyes. Hajime wants to know what his stupid hair _feels_ like even more.

“It’s been too long,” he says. “Since we’ve seen each other.”

“Visit for your birthday. I’ll meet you at home,” Oikawa suggests softly. “I bet your mom misses you.”

“Your mom definitely misses me,” Hajime says. “I was her favorite.” And he’s only partly kidding, with about fifteen years worth of birthday presents from her to prove it and one more probably in the mail.

Oikawa sighs exaggeratedly. “She felt _bad_ for you and your stubby legs, Iwa-chan, how many times do I have to tell you? Couldn’t walk anywhere on your own, you poor thing.”

“Would you look at the time. I have class soon, gotta go,” Hajime says dryly.

“ _Aaand_ you’ve barely gotten taller since then! No wonder she worries.”

“Shittykawa,” Hajime growls.

“Okay, okay! I’m hanging up,” Oikawa laughs. "Call me later?"

“Yeah, alright,” Hajime grumbles. “Bye, love you.”

“Love you too!” Oikawa chirps, and Hajime ends the call. 

He drags himself out of bed -- he has a little more time before class starts, but there’s no use staring at his ceiling when he could be eating a birthday breakfast -- and stumbles into the living room. His roommate is already up, sitting in the exact same spot on their couch that he was when Hajime went to sleep last night. He takes in the bloodshot eyes and frantic page-turning, and gives him a nod in solidarity.

“Big test?” Hajime grunts from behind the kitchen counter, pulling out a bowl and eyeing the pile of spoons in the sink. 

“Yeah,” his roommate sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “O-Chem.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Hajime sighs sympathetically, giving up on the spoons. It’s his birthday, dammit. He can drink his cereal if he wants. “Stay strong.”

He carries his bowl back to his room, tilting it into his mouth happily. _I love Frosted Flakes_ , he thinks, and then the bowl is shattering on his floor. 

Hajime said he loves Oikawa, before he hung up on him.

“What the fuck?”

Oikawa _said it back_.

“What the _fuck.”_

\---

Oikawa’s ringtone goes off a lot later than Hajime expected it to, considering the impromptu declarations of love and all.

“Hajime, step outside,” Oikawa says firmly. 

Hajime reacts immediately to his first name, reaching for the door handle before coming to his senses. He squints at his phone suspiciously. “Why?”

“Oh my god,” Oikawa mutters, then huffs a breath. “I love you. Come downstairs now.”

Hajime is tearing out of his apartment before he’s done speaking. 

“I’m in the parking lot,” Oikawa continues. “I can hear you stomping around on your stairs, you big lump. Calm down.”

“Can’t,” Hajime huffs, leaping to the ground from half a flight up. “Have to tell you I love you.”

“Oh!” Oikawa warbles, and then there's a clattering sound in Hajime’s ear. 

“Oikawa?”

“Sorry, sorry! Dropped my phone.”

“How does that thing still work,” Hajime wonders. 

“There are more important things happening, Hajime-- oh! There you are,” Oikawa says, and Hajime catches the brief flash of nervousness on his face as he skids to a stop on the other side of the parking lot, and then he's distracted by Oikawa's face in general, as usual. 

“I see you,” Hajime says, and he can _feel_ the embarrassingly goofy expression on his face, stretching his cheeks.

“I see you,” Oikawa echoes, waving like an idiot. He looks like he threw on whatever clothes he could reach, even the ones on the floor judging by the wrinkles. Hajime would argue he's never been more beautiful.

Hajime flips him off and then blows him a kiss. “Hey -- I love you, dumbass.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him. “I love you, too. Now get the hell over here already, I didn't come all this way to be stared at-- oof!”

Neither of their phones are going to survive that fall, Hajime thinks idly, but he's got Oikawa laughing in his arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek, so he isn't going to worry about it too much.

\---

Hajime steps outside when he notices Tooru making a beeline for his gym bag on the bench, shutting the glass door gently behind him. The cheering is still audible, but it’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa and all the rest, so he would be concerned if they were anything other than their deafening, noise complaint-inducing selves. 

Japan just won gold in volleyball, anyways. The whole building should be celebrating.

He leans on the rail of their balcony, looking over the city lights -- _Iwa-chan, how will I get my beauty sleep if it’s always bright out_ \-- while he waits for the call. Seconds later, his screen is lighting up and Hajime is lifting it to his ear.

“--won, we won, we won! Did you see it, Iwa-chan, we won!” Tooru is shouting over the stadium crowd, his voice already hoarse.

“Yeah, babe. I saw everything.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the TV screen, even during the commercials. He made Yahaba get his snacks for him, and he doesn’t feel remotely guilty about it.

“There was-- did you see when I-- and Ojiro, did you see when he--” Tooru is cutting himself off with excitement, and it’s so familiar that Hajime has to close his eyes against the flood of memories. Years of post-victory lunches, recaps of the latest college tournaments, watching the Olympics curled up on Tooru’s living room floor, and now he's _there._ Maybe he’s on the TV screen of a different pair of volleyball-crazy kids and they're dissecting his every move, like Hajime and Tooru used to do. For Hajime, it's _more_ than enough -- pure luck, even, or really fucking good karma -- that he got to watch him every step of the way.

“His back attack in the third set?” Hajime finally finishes, because his second language is Oikawa-speak. “Kyoutani looked like he was swooning when he saw it. Nice setup.”

Tooru starts giggling deliriously. Hajime pinches his lips between his fingers to keep his smile under control. “I get a _medal_ , Iwa-chan. Where are we going to put it--” He’s interrupted by a shout so familiar that Hajime knows to move his phone away from his ear. “Bokuto, get _off_ , I know we won, I was there --”

“Let the man celebrate,” Hajime says, chuckling. “If you need to talk to your team--”

“No, no, not yet. Look, I’m blowing you a kiss, can you see?”

Hajime ducks into the living room again, just in time to catch Tooru’s frantic flailing, crushed on all sides by reporters and his teammates. Without his narration, he wouldn’t have guessed that was a kiss. Hajime’s never seen anything more beautiful. (He thinks that a lot, though. Like once a week at least.) 

“Yeah, I’m watching you,” he says. “Hanamaki is screaming, can you hear him?” 

“Is that Oikawa?!” Hanamaki continues to scream. “That lucky motherfucker, they almost had him with that fucking cross, I think I had a heart attack, or I’m currently having one, Mattsun _help--_ ”

“Tell him congrats,” Matsukawa says, ignoring Hanamaki. He’s reclining on the floor, legs tucked under the coffee table and elbow resting casually on Kindaichi’s bowed head.

“Tell him yourself.” Hajime puts the phone on speaker -- a risk he would usually never take around their old team. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment, for all of them.

“Oikawa-san!” Kindaichi wails immediately, and can’t say anything more than that through his tears.

“I would have ended it in the first set!” Hanamaki shouts, still clutching at his chest.

Kunimi stops tweeting long enough to glare at Hanamaki. “No, he wouldn’t have. Oikawa-san, you really lead the team in the last half. Well done.” 

“Good job, Oikawa!” Watari cheers, jostling a sniffling Yahaba.

Kyoutani grunts in the phone’s general direction. 

“Kyoutani says good game,” Hajime translates, watching Tooru’s reactions on the screen. He has a hand clapped over his mouth, his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes as his shoulders tremble, and he would usually never let anyone see him like this. Next to him, Bokuto is pointing and laughing and crying all at the same time. 

“Killer serve, captain,” Matsukawa says quietly. “You still have to buy us ramen for that point in the fourth set, though.”

Tooru ducks behind his coach, his sniffling audible over the phone. Hajime waves wildly for everyone to be quiet when it becomes apparent he’s going to speak. “I-- thank you. I couldn’t have...I wouldn’t be here without all of you. I can’t...I wish you were _here_.”

Hajime subtly wipes at his eyes, but never moves his gaze from Tooru.

“We believe in you!” Hanamaki yells, interrupting the silence that had fallen. 

Kyoutani kicks his shoulder from his slouched position on the couch. “He already _won,_ creampuff brain.”

“Disrespectful! Our juniors are revolting, Oikawa-san, whatever shall we do?” Hanamaki gasps, rolling around on Hajime and Tooru’s carpet. It’s Yahaba’s disgusted _tch_ that breaks the bittersweet mood that had fallen over a team that, in Hajime’s opinion, has no business (no _experience_ ) staying down.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Hajime says goodnaturedly. “I’m taking him back outside.”

Hanamaki grins, shark-like, and flutters his lashes. “Oooh, how scandalous-- _ah!_ Mattsun, you would hit a dying man? I didn’t know this about you--”

“Hey,” Hajime says, shutting the door behind him. “I’m proud of you.”

“I know,” Tooru says. “I was thinking of you, the whole time.”

“I’m always thinking of you,” Hajime responds, and it’s so true that he barely paused before he said it. “Call me when you get back to your hotel room.”

“I will! I miss you, just stay up a little bit longer,” Tooru promises. “I love you, I love you.”

“Just a couple more days,” Hajime says, mostly to himself. “I love you, too.”

\---

_Hi, you’ve reached Iwa-chan and Iwaizumi-san! Please leave a message after the-- Hajime, stop, they’re going to get confused if we don’t distinguish ourselves -- HAJIME! Okay, leaveamessageafterthebeep byeeee!_

**7/13/2020, 1:43 PM**  
“Tooru, you dumbass, I told you to change the voicemail, my _boss_ has this number. Anyways, you forgot your jacket during lunch _again_ and I have it hanging in my office now. It’s mine, forever. If you want it back you have to get past the nurses and I told them you were banned from this floor. Good luck, I love you, see you at home.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> in the 2008 song kiss me thru the phone, soulja boy used his real phone number, because he’s the bravest musician working rn
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> [kyouken.carrd.co](http://kyouken.carrd.co)


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